You'll Be My King (I'll Be Your Castle)
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: In which I attempt to ship Kingsley with literally everyone.:: 1. Kingsley and Rosmerta find some solace after the war.
1. Home Sweet Home (KingsleyRosmerta)

_Word Count: 443_

* * *

"Where have you been?" Rosmerta's lips purse, and her eyes narrow ever so slightly in a clear _how dare you keep me waiting _way.

"Uh… France," Kingsley answers, hoping his smile is enough.

She softens. At least she understands that he's doing his best. Since the war ended and he was made Minister, Kingsley has just been trying his best and hoping everything works out. Some days are better than others, but Rosmerta has been so wonderfully patient with him.

He stands at her side, holding her hand as he looks ahead at the little seaside cottage. "It's really ours," he says, incredulous.

It isn't much. Two bedrooms, one bath, and a cozy kitchen that opens onto the living room. Half of it has been overtaken by green ivy, and the other half is a little weathered from the sun and wind, but it is perfect. They are far away from London, in his case, and from Hogsmeade, in hers.

In the back of his mind, Kingsley knows he should be terrified. This is such a big step, and maybe there's a lot that can go wrong.

But he isn't afraid. Rosmerta's hand is in his, and he feels so anchored. Nothing could make him turn and run from this moment.

Rosmerta leans in, resting her head against his shoulder. "Not having second thoughts, are you?" she asks.

He chuckles, but the tremble is clear in the sound. It's funny, really. He's faced certain death so many times over the past couple of years. How many Death Eaters has he dueled? There were nights where he was so sure he wouldn't live to see another dawn, days when the odds were stacked against him in the most hopeless way.

It didn't matter. Bht this? He knows that commitment isn't the issue. He's been in love with the barmaid for as long as he can remember, and he's always known she's the one for him. Still, it's such a big change, and maybe there's a part of him that is afraid.

Kingsley smiles. It doesn't matter that he's trembling and uncertain. Rosmerta is everything to him.

"Not at all," he says before scooping her easily into his arms.

Rosmerta squeals, squirming though her heart is clearly not in the protest. "Put me down!" she says, giggling like a giddy schoolgirl.

"Nope. Gotta carry you over the threshold."

She playfully smacks his shoulder lightly. "That's only if we've just gotten married."

Kingsley pauses, pretending to consider for a moment. Grinning, he shrugs. "We'll get to that one day."

For now, all he cares about is this moment and being able to share it with her.


	2. Green (KingsleyAntonin)

_Word Count: 410_

* * *

"Can we agree that duels are dumb and immature?" Antonin asks with a smirk, though his wand is at the ready.

Kinglsey doesn't lower his, doesn't relax for even a second. He knows perfectly well what Antonin is capable of, and he refuses to let his guard down.

Antonin just grins, but he doesn't make a move. Kingsley doesn't like that; he's on edge, watching the other man with narrowed eyes.

"Come on, Kingsley," Antonin says. "Do you really want to do this?"

Of course not, and Antonin knows it. They've been through too much together. Even if this was has them on opposing sides, Kingsley can't just pretend none of it ever happened. His chest aches, but he cannot back down. This is war.

Antonin's hand moves, and Kingsley is quick. He knows that Antonin is dangerous. Everyone in the Order remembers the damage he did to Hermione in the Department of Mysteries. The Curse leaves his lips before be can even reconsider. In the glow of green light that cuts through the darkness, Kingsley realizes, much too late, that Antonin had raised wand at the sky in surrender.

…

_"You don't think we're making a mistake?" Antonin whispers._

_Kingsley just laughs. Why should it matter if they're a Slytherin and Gryffindor? It isn't a mistake if they love each other, and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that this is love._

_They kiss, and it is enough._

…

_"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Kingsley demands. "You are _not _joining the Death Eaters!"_

_Antonin smiles sadly and rubs his arm in the spot where the Dark Mark will go. "We shouldn't have let things get this far," he says. "We were always meant to say goodbye."_

_"It doesn't have to be like this."_

_It isn't supposed to happen this way. Love should be enough to keep them together. Why isn't it?_

…

Everything happens so fast. Before Kingsely can even cry out, the Killing Curse strikes Antonin. His former lover never even tried to step out of the way.

Antonin's body falls to the ground, and Kingsley swallows down a scream. He wants to run to him and hold him close. He wants love to be enough to make the world work right again.

But the battle is still raging. All he can do is whisper an apology and pretend it's enough to assuage his guilt before turning on his heel and rushing into the fight.


	3. Perfume (KingsleyNarcissa)

_Word Count: 438_

* * *

Sometimes Kingsley wonders exactly how he ended up so lucky. Narcissa is a _Black_, which means she's practically royalty, and many people in the castle are willing to treat her as such. How many other boys have tried to be where Kingsley is today?

They sit together, hidden away from prying eyes. The lake is within their sight, but the shrubbery obscures them from passing students. They will be safe for a little longer.

Narcissa stretches out, deliberately landing her slender legs in his lap. "I never get asked about my perfume," she says, lips twisting into a pout. "I wear something special, you know."

Kingsley chuckles and rolls his eyes. "Your perfume smells like your daddy's got money."

She digs her heel gently into his thigh, not enough to hurt, but enough to startle him. "Are you saying you don't like it?"

Shaking his head, he moves closer, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'm saying you don't have to wear things just because they smell expensive," he answers. "You don't have to try and impress me, Cissa. I promise, you've already done that a hundred times over."

This seems to satisfy her. She smiles proudly and lies back, relaxing in the grass. "Then what do you like?" Her blue eyes find his, curious and intrigued.

Kingsley considers for a moment. He's spent so long learning what Narcissa likes and trying to be whatever she needs that it never occurred to him that she might be just as interested.

He shrugs. "I like simplicity," he answers, plucking a small yellow flower flower the ground and tucking it in her hair. "I like it when things are peaceful."

"Are you sure you aren't a Hufflepuff?"

With a grin, he lies out beside her, resting his hand on top of hers, eyes fixed upon the sky overhead. "To put it simply," he says, "I like what I feel when I'm with you. I never want it to end."

"Good," she says. "It doesn't have to."

He wishes it could be true, but he knows better. At the end of the day, she is still a Black, still royalty in many's eyes. She has her duties, and Kingsley doesn't fit into that great plan. One day, she will marry someone her father thinks is worthy, and he will be little more than a good memory of a past lover.

But he will not say that. He will not allow himself to even think about it.

"For the record, I like your perfume."

For now, he will just enjoy the precious moments he has with her, and it will be enough.


	4. Ghosts and Bravery (KingsleyMyrtle)

Word Count: 620

He hates having to hide; it makes him feel like a coward, and Kingsley likes to think he is anything but a coward. Not today, though. Today, it's easier to just slip into the girls' restroom and let the others find a new target. No one ever comes to this one. He will be safe here.

"Hmpf! Why are you here?"

He turns, unsurprisingly faced with Moaning Myrtle. He's heard stories about her, and he recognizes her immediately. "Sorry, Myrtle," he says, offering her an apologetic smile.

"You know my name?"

"Uh. Sure? Why wouldn't I?"

The ghost sniffs and huffs, floating above him. "Oh, I don't know," she says, sarcasm dripping from each word. "Maybe because everyone always forgets about me. Who cares about poor, ugly, miserable Myrtle?"

He swallows dryly. So far, the ghosts at Hogwarts have been mostly pleasant. Even the Bloody Baron was kind enough to keep his distance when Kingsley ran into him on his way to Potions. He isn't sure about Myrtle, though. From what he's heard, she's volatile and dangerous. Maybe she can't hurt him, but there's something menacing about her.

"Look, I just need a place to hang out for a few," he says, shrugging as he drops to the floor and rests his head against the wall. "There's a group of Slytherins out there who want to kill me, I think."

It's an exaggeration. At least, he hopes it is. Sometimes it's hard to tell. All he knows is that his father rejects the notion of blood supremacy, and some students don't like that Kingsley agrees with his father.

"Maybe I should let them," he adds bitterly. He's so tired of having to hide, of being afraid.

"Dying is easy, young man," she says, moving closer, her demeanor changing completely as she sits, hovering above the floor. "Living is harder. Aren't Gryffindors supposed to enjoy a challenge?"

He touches his fingers to his House tie. She's right. "I… Well, yeah."

She grins. "Then go be a Gryffindor," she says. "And if they kill you, find your own toilet."

Kingsley laughs and offers her a mock salute. "Sure thing."

Myrtle inches closer. "But don't do it now. Talk to me. I never have visitors."

…

He doesn't know why his first thought is to see Myrtle, but Kingsley bursts through the door, grinning. "I did it! Blimey, I'm going to end up with a month's detention, but I did it!"

Myrtle appears from behind the stall, brows raised. "Did what?"

"Stood up to them! They don't want to kill me anymore! I jinxed the hell out of them, Myrtle!"

Truth be told, they probably want him dead even more now. He's done more than just defend himself; he's wounded their pride. In that moment, it doesn't matter. He feels so free.

"Shame. I would have let you share this bathroom after all."

"I thought I had to find my own."

Myrtle shrugs, drifting closer with a grin. "Maybe you've grown on me. You are sort of cute… for a living boy."

He doesn't know why that makes him blush.

…

He doesn't know when it changes, but he feels it. Myrtle is more than just a ghost, just a whisper of someone others try to forget. It isn't right, but he realizes he loves her.

…

"You're going to forget me too," Myrtle says, sitting on the sink and kicking her legs restlessly.

"I won't."

She laughs. "Everyone always does."

Kingsley closes the distance between them. He wishes he could take her hand and pull her close, but he knows he would pass right through her. Instead, he just shakes his head. "I'm not everyone."

She smiles like maybe she believes him.


	5. A Little Hope (KingsleyGilderoy)

_Word Count: 354_

* * *

"I've got a jar of dirt." Gilderoy holds up the glass jar with a proud smile on his face. "They don't let me go outside anymore. But sometimes… Sometimes nice people send me parcels."

It was the Healers idea. Kingsley knows that much. The days go by, and Gilderoy is stuck in St. Mungo's, unable to see the outside world. Healer Digby sent requests to Gilderoy's regular correspondences, asking for everyday things in nature to remind him of the outside world. His collection so far consists of a jar of dirt with a label declaring it to be from Cardiff, several rocks and crystals, and a magenta flower that is beginning to dry out and fade.

It kills Kingsley. All he wants is to take Gilderoy away from the hospital, to remind him of how beautiful the outside world really is. Once, they'd had the promise of a future together. Now, Gilderoy barely even recognizes him, and it breaks his heart.

"Do you send me letters?" Gilderoy asks, setting the jar of dirt among the rest of his possessions.

"Sometimes. Mostly, I just visit you."

Gilderoy's eyes bright at that. He's still grinning as he sits on his bed. "Do you? How nice."

Kingsley takes a deep breath. He wonders if it will ever get any easier, or if it will always hurt like this. This is a different kind of grief. Is he meant to mourn Gilderoy forever, or is there hope?

"You'll remember you belong to me." Kingsley frowns, realizing how bad that sounds. He shakes his head. "I mean… it's mutual. We belong together, you and me. We…"

Tears sting his eyes. He blinks them away. He is the strong one, the fierce leader. If he breaks, the whole world will shatter.

Gilderoy doesn't seem to notice. He's still grinning, completely oblivious to Kingsley's internal struggle. "I'm glad I have somewhere to belong."

Kingsley smiles. Maybe things will repeat themselves in the end, and he'll always have to go through this. Maybe he cannot have Gilderoy in the way he once did. But, for now, he can hold on to hope.


	6. Lead (KingsleyMinerva)

_Word Count: 363_

* * *

"They are asking me to lead," he says, pouring another glass of firewhiskey. "I'm doing the best I can."

Minerva nods, accepting the bottle of liquor and pouring herself a glass. She isn't much of a drinker, but the aftermath of the war has weighed on her, and she's lost so many students that a cup of tea is no longer enough to comfort her. "I think you're a good man for it."

He sighs and shakes his head. Maybe it would be easier if people didn't think he was such a good man. The thought of leading isn't what scares the hell out of; it's the thought of letting them down and showing them that he is not some great saint who can perform miracles. He's just as broken and lost as anyone else is.

Minerva rests a hand on his arm. It's such a simple gesture, but it comforts him in a way that words never could. He takes a deep breath, and his lips twitch, forming a faint smile.

"I know you are a man of honor," she tells him. "I couldn't think of a better man for the job."

He could. If he's honest, he thinks anyone would be better for it. He can play a part, but he isn't quite prepared for something like this. Not for the first time, he finds himself missing Mad-Eye. His old mentor would know what to do.

Minerva's eyes find his. She leans in closer and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to his lips before pulling away with a smile. It's clear in the way she looks at him that she believes in him, and that stirs something within him.

Why should it matter that he's lost? Someone has to take charge. This isn't the role he would want for himself, but it had felt so natural immediately following the final battle. Others were quick to follow him, to trust him.

He sits up a little straighter and offers his lover a bright grin. If Minerva believes in him, that will be enough. Maybe he doesn't know how to lead, but he still find a way. Nothing is going to stop him.


	7. What He's Lost (KingsleyRemus)

_Word Count: 567_

* * *

How many funerals has Kinglsey attended since the war? Too many. Part of him wonders if it will ever get easier; the other part is glad it doesn't. At least it reminds him that he can still feel, that the war hasn't left him completely numb.

Truth be told, though, he wishes he could be numb today, or, better yet, not be here at all. This funeral, more than any other, is going to make him wish he had died in the battle.

"Kingsley," Andromeda says, her tone warm even though her voice is cracking.

"Andi," he greets. "Would you like me to hold Teddy? You look exhausted."

Her lips quirk into a ghost of a smile. "What a thing to say to a lady," she snorts. "I'm fine. Thank you."

With a nod, Kingsley moves forward.

Seeing Tonks like this is hell. He remembers her alive, in all her clumsy glory. But it's Remus' body that feels like a knife has been wedged into his heart.

…

_Kingsley watches in amusement as James walks past them, Sirius pursuing him. "I'm telling you, James. Strawberry syrup would make a convincing bloodstain."_

_Kingsley glances over at Remus who just rolls his eyes and keeps reading, ignoring his bickering friends._

_"They're a force to be reckoned with," Kingsley observes._

_Now, Remus does look up. "Tell me something I don't know."_

_It's the most Remus has ever said to him. Why is Kingsley suddenly freezing up? It feels like there's a lump in his throat, and he can't seem to swallow it down. _

_"You okay?" Remus asks._

_Somehow, Kingsley manages to nod. Merlin! Why does he have to be so awkward. "Just, uh… I'm fine," he says._

_Remus doesn't look so convinced, but he nods and returns to his book._

…

_"I could easily beat you in a duel!" Sirius insists_

_"Try me."_

_"I really don't care."_

_"Oi! Shacklebolt! Tell Remus I would kick his ass in a duel. You believe me, yeah?"_

_Kingsley just stares. Once again, he finds himself unable to speak. Remus tends to have that effect on him, and it's maddening._

_"His silence means I'm right."_

…

_It isn't until much later, when Mad-Eye recruits him that Kingsley is able to express himself._

_The two of them sit on the battered sofa at Grimmauld place, watching as Sirius pesters Tonks. _

_"Minerva named her feral tomcat after him," Remus says. "Well… That's what Sirius says. If you ask me, Minerva probably doesn't want to be reminded of him like that. Everything okay?"_

_For a moment, Kingsley is a thirteen year old boy again, all stammering and nervousness. He swallows. "I fancy you," he says, wishing he could have found a way to say it better. "Always have."_

_And when Remus smiles, it's enough to make Kingsley's heart soar. "I fancy you too."_

…

_It isn't enough, of course. Kingsley can never give him the life he deserves. He watches as Remus and Tonks get closer and closer, and he knows it's only a matter of time before his heart breaks._

…

He stands before Remus' coffin. By now, he's done this so many times that it feels so horribly natural.

But this is different. This is his Remus, the man he loves. This is burying not just a body but a wealth of hopes and dreams.

"I'm really gonna miss you," he whispers. "I love you, Remus."


	8. Temptation (KingsleyPetunia)

_Word Count: 470_

Kingsley tries to tell himself he doesn't know why he's here, but that's a lie. He can insist that it's his duty, that he wants to keep an eye on things and make sure the Dursleys are safe because it's the right thing to do, but that isn't quite true. The others are perfectly capable of watching out for the family.

No. What keeps him coming back is Petunia Dursley. From the moment he saw her, he knew she was perfect, and he hasn't been able to shake the thought of her.

"Sorry to startle you," he says when she jumps.

Petunia huffs. "I suppose I should be used to it. Your lot keep coming through in the most impossible ways."

They aren't impossible, but Kingsley doesn't remind her of that. He's never seen a Muggle so opposed to magic before he met her.

"What's that?" he asks, nodding toward the silver thing on the kitchen table.

"A pistol. Vernon wants me to have it at all times when he's gone."

Kingsley frowns. He vaguely knows what a pistol is, and he knows Muggle law well enough to know the Dursleys shouldn't have access to one. For someone so tidy and clean-cut, it seems that Vernon has some shady connections.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Petunia moves closer, closing the distance between them with a few strides of her long legs. "I know why you're here," she says. "I've watched enough soap operas to know."

Kingsley wonders what a soap opera is. Have Muggles developed bath products that sing? Really, with all their cleverness, he wouldn't put it past them. He makes a mental note to ask Arthur later.

"I've thought of you too," she tells him, grazing her fingers over his cheek. "I'm yours."

He steps away, shaking his head. Even though he has thought of her and longed for her, that doesn't mean he wants her like this. He wants to admire her from afar; she's married, after all.

But his resolve threatens to give way to desire. It would be so easy.

He wants her, but not like this.

"Petunia," he whispers.

She shakes her head, moving in again. "Vernon doesn't have to know," she says. "He wouldn't care, even if he found out."

Why does she have to be so close? He can smell the floral and citrus notes of her perfume mingling with the faintest scent of sweat. He doesn't know if he can resist temptation much longer.

"I don't need a gun if I have you. You make me feel so much safer."

Just this once, he can allow himself to give in. He can set his morals aside and pretend this isn't so very wrong.

"You have me," he says.

And, in that moment, he no longer cares if it's right. He lets desire win.


	9. Feels Like Hope (KingsleyPoppy)

_Geography, task 1: Use the setting Hogwarts Greenhouse _

_Word Count: 563_

* * *

He shouldn't be surprised to find Poppy in the greenhouse. By now Kingsley has learned that the Healer is most in her element here and in the hospital wing. Given the chaos immediately following the war, he imagines the greenhouse would be more preferable.

As he steps forward, broken glass crunches beneath his feet. Even this safe haven was not spared in the battle.

"I suppose congratulations are in order, Minister," she says, looking up from a golden blossom she's collecting.

"Acting Minister," he corrects. "I'm sure they'll find someone better suited for the job soon enough."

Poppy chuckles, her chocolate-brown eyes twinkling with amusement. She bows her head again, focusing on the flowers. A greying curl comes loose, falling in her face. "You have my vote," she says. "What brings you here?"

Kingsley glances over his shoulder. Through the broken glass walls, he can see the castle in the distance. There's too much pain in those walls. How is he expected to lead when his heart keeps breaking for each person he sees?

"Just needed to clear my head," he answers, returning his gaze to her. "Shouldn't you be there? Tending to the wounded, I mean?"

As an answer, she lifts the basket. There's an array of colors made up of different roots, stems, leaves, and flowers. "The injured are in perfectly capable hands," she tells him. "Unfortunately, my healing supplies are depleting quickly. I offered to collect some ingredients for Horace."

A moment of silence hangs between them before she crumples, her knees buckling. With a choked sob, she drops to the floor, tears streaking her face. Kingsley is by her side in seconds, kneeling in confusion. He wants to reach out for her but hesitates, uncertain as to how he should proceed.

"So many of them are gone," she says, her voice thin and breaking. The basket falls from her trembling hands, and leaves spill onto the greenhouse floor. "I'm a Healer, but I… I was too late."

He takes her hand gently in his own, shaking his head. "You've done all you can," he says softly. "You couldn't have prevented this."

If anything, _he _could have. Kingsley can think of a dozen instances where he could have done more, could have fought harder, could have moved faster. How many are dead because he failed them?

He clenches his jaw until he feels a faint burning in his face. If he won't let Poppy blame herself, he won't blame himself. He did what he could; it wasn't perfect, but he tried. That has to be enough.

"You must think I'm so silly," she says with a sniffle, wiping her eyes with her free hand.

"I think you're a lot of things," he chuckles. "Silly isn't one of them." With that, he climbs to his feet before helping her up and retrieving her basket. "If you don't mind the company, I'd like to help."

Her pale cheeks flush a soft pink. She nods before looking away. "I would like that."

"Maybe I can buy you a drink later," he offers. Merlin knows he needs something strong after everything he's been through. "Dinner too?"

"I'd like that."

Everything that's happened is a tragedy, and it will take them a lifetime to heal completely. But, in this moment, hidden away among the plants in the greenhouse, Kingsley feels the first flicker of hope.


	10. The Promise (KingsleyAlecto)

_Word Count: 479_

* * *

He doesn't mean to fall in love. Not with Alecto Carrow, at least. She is twisted and dangerous, and Kingsley knows this all to well.

…

_They are twelve years old and she takes his hand. Her hands are cold, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he just smiles at her, and they promise one another that they will be best friends until the end of time. _

_And now, so young and carefree, they still believe in the impossible, and they just know this will find a way to work._

…

She is at his doorstep, and she looks so pitiful. Kingsley knows he ought to turn her away; she has made her choice, and he cannot save her from the consequences of her own mistakes.

But then she smiles at him, and he cannot say no. Not to her.

…

_At thirteen, he notices the bruises and scars, and he touches her so gently, so afraid that she will shatter. Fingertips like ice, she caresses his cheek and tells him her story._

_Her father beats her brother. Amycus is ashamed of being weak, and he takes it out on her. She doesn't recount the tales of endless pain with hostility in her voice; it is clear that she loves her brother. Instead, she speaks with acceptance and helplessness, and Kingsley's heart breaks._

_He holds her close and promises he will protect her. He doesn't know how to keep his promise, but he tells himself that he will figure it out._

…

This is dangerous and so very wrong. She is a Death Eater, a wanted criminal. Not only is he an Auror, he's a member of the Order of the Phoenix. They're meant to be enemies, and he knows he should report her.

He can't bring himself to do it.

…

_They are sixteen and sitting atop the Astronomy Tower, watching the twinkling stars overhead._

_He whispers that he loves her. Alecto just laughs and tells him that he needs higher standards._

…

Her lips find his, and she holds him close. She tells him that she loves him, and Kingsley realizes he's needed those words for so long.

She reminds him of his promise. He is supposed to protect her, and she needs him. Amycus is out of Azkaban too, and she doesn't want him to hurt her anymore. When he wraps his arms around her, Kingsley can feel the way she trembles.

He promised to keep her safe all those years ago. It was a promise made with the optimism of a young, foolish boy. Kingsley now knows that the world isn't that simple and that it can be so ugly and cruel. Despite it all, he still feels that compulsion, and maybe now he can actually do something about it.

Abandoning his doubts and hesitations, he kisses her again and vows to keep his promise.


	11. What We Were (KingsleyTonks)

_Word Count: 406_

* * *

_She is beautiful and so full of life. Maybe that's why Kingsley falls so quickly when she enters the Aurors' office on her first day._

_Love at first sight. It's such a cliche, but maybe it's true._

_She trips, laughing about how very clumsy she is. Kingsley is there to catch her. She smiles at him, winking as she makes a joke about falling easily._

_And that's the moment he realizes that Nymphadora Tonks is the most beautiful woman he's ever known._

…

There is no life and fire in her eyes anymore. The smile that always adorned her face has been forever frozen in a snarl. Kingsley wonders what she said before she died. He wonders if he could have saved her somehow.

He takes a deep breath. It won't do any good to think like that. It is over and done, and if he dwells on _what if _for too long, it will drive him mad.

And yet the thoughts intrude his mind, and guilt overtakes him. He could have done more somehow; he could have prevented this.

…

_She wears her hair short, favoring a bright bubblegum pink. When he asks why, she just grins and says that he should know._

_He blushes. Has she caught him staring? Maybe he has watched her a little more when her hair is this shade; it really does suit her._

_She moves closer, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. _

_From that moment on, she always seems to keep her hair pink._

…

Her hair has been brown for so long, subtle and simple. It's pink now, forever as bright as she used to be.

He wonders what changed. What made her revert back to her signature bubblegum? Was she thinking of him in her final moments?

Kingsley can't think like that. He shakes his head, trying to force the thoughts from his mind.

…

_They don't last. Maybe he doesn't expect them to. After all, she is made to be wild and free, and he prefers rules and order a little too much._

_It hurts. Merlin, it hurts so damn bad. But he sees her smile, and it is worth the pain. _

_Remus makes her happy. Somehow, that is enough._

…

Tonks and Remus are side by side, their hands touching where their bodies lay in the corridor. Kingsley closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. At least she wasn't alone in the end.


	12. Unfinished (KingsleyRita)

_Word Count: 394_

* * *

"Hello, sweetie."

Kingsley doesn't have to look up to know who that voice belongs to. Something stirs within him. Longing? Annoyance? He cannot quite name the emotion.

He keeps his eyes fixed upon the paperwork he's going through. If he ignores her, maybe she'll go away.

Rita laughs. Maybe she knows what he's thing to do, and how he's destined to fail so miserably. "Come now, Minister. You and I have unfinished business."

After several moments, he finally looks up. Merlin, she is stunning, an absolute vision in green. Her painted red lips tug into a grin that is a little too dangerous to be a sign of cheer.

_Unfinished business. _That's one way of putting it.

Her grin only broadens as she moves closer. "What's wrong, Kingsley?" she asks sweetly. "Cat got your tongue? Can we be friends again?"

"We were never friends," he reminds her.

Her grin changes to a pout that lasts for only a moment. "You're right. I never touched my friends the way you touched me…"

With a sharp inhale, Kingsley pinches the bridge of his nose. It's unsettling how easy it is for Rita to get under his skin. "I need you to stop talking now."

Why does it feel like he's trapped in a nightmare? It has been years since there was anything between them. In the end, their love could not compete with her ambition, and Kingsley had been left behind.

It's ancient history, nothing he should even think about anymore.

And yet…

Her hand slides into his, their fingers lacing together. Rita's skin is still as smooth as silk. Memories flood his mind. Good. Bad. Everything in between.

Against his better judgement, he still wants her. She broke his heart, but maybe he can find it in himself to forgive her.

With a soft laugh, Rita leans in, dangerously close. "You look like you're stressed," she murmurs, reaching out with her free hand and caressing his cheek. "I'm sure I can be a lovely distraction for you."

Maybe he will live to regret it, but Kingsley melts. The war has only ended a month ago, and he can feel his sanity slowly slipping away. There's so much pain and suffering, and Kingsley needs an escape.

Maybe there's nothing wrong with forgiveness and second chances. Maybe something good can come of this.

He lets her in.


	13. Playing the Game (KingsleyAmelia)

_Word Count: 473_

* * *

_"Not so fast," Amelia says, grinning and picking up her king, taking Kingsley's knight, and working her way out of check. "I'm not dead yet."_

_Kingsley laughs and shakes his head. As long as he's known Amelia, he knows she would never go down without a fight. She has always been so fiery, so eager. Sometimes he suspects she was meant to be a Gryffindor, but the Sorting Hat feared the backlash that would follow if it separated her from Edgar._

_He considers, studying the chess pieces across the board. His mind races. Three moves ahead, that's what his father always taught him. He only makes it past two before realizing she will win yet again._

_She always does. John says he's beat her in chess once, but Kingsley is certain that's a lie. Either that, or Amelia let the poor bugger win._

_"Perhaps a glass of wine, and we'll call it a night, dear?" he suggests, climbing to his feet and pressing a kiss to her forehead._

_Her fingers curl around his wrist. "Not so fast, Kingsley. We still have a game going on."_

_He chuckles. "You've already won," he says._

_Amelia gestures toward his empty seat. "Show me," she instructs. "Never leave anything undone."_

_He knows he can't say no to her, so he returns to his seat, summoning the bottle of wine and two glasses. _

…

She's gone, and he still doesn't understand it. They had been looking at Amelia to take Fudge's place. She had heard the whispers, of course, though she hadn't really talked about it. Kingsley is certain she had been pleased. After all, there isn't anyone else in the Ministry who could take on that role and be as noble and just as Amelia.

And now she's gone. Albus suspects Voldemort himself took her out, perceiving her as too much of a threat.

He lingers in front of the chessboard. All the pieces are put away, the traces of their final match a week before wiped away. In the end, when all seemed hopeless, he had been victorious. His queen had taken her king.

"What am I going to do now, Amelia?" he whispered, shaking his head and scrubbing his palm over the back of his neck.

She never wanted to leave things undone, always preaching that completion is key. Maybe that's the cruelest irony of this. She is gone, and so much will be left undone. All her plans for the Auror Department, all her dreams….

Except maybe those dreams don't have to die with her. Wouldn't it be the perfect way to honor the legacy of the woman he loved so much? He will not step away. He will keep playing this game, no matter how hopeless it seems, and he will not give up until he wins.

It's what Amelia would have wanted.


	14. Fix You (KingsleyRabastan)

_Word Count: 401_

* * *

Kingsley has never been a fan of this place. Really, he doubts anyone else in the Auror office is. Azkaban doesn't discriminate between the guilty and the innocent. Its menacing chill still finds it way beneath the skin, freezing the marrow in Kingsley's bones.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't be here unless his job required him. Today, however, despite the story given, this is personal.

"You just had to prove me wrong, didn't you?" he mutters, leaning against the cell door.

Rabastan looks up, dirty hair hanging in his eyes. When he sees Kingsley, he grins. "No. I proved myself right. You shouldn't have loved me."

Kingsley flinches. Maybe that's fair. He had known the Lestranges' reputation, and he had fallen anyway. His judgement isn't exactly the best. Still, he had hoped against hope that Rabastan would be different.

"I told you I was no good," Rabastan whispers. "Why would I lie?"

"Can you really blame me for wanting you?"

He hates admitting that. Even now, after Rabastan's abhorrent behavior, after what he's done, after all the pain he's caused, there's still a part of Kingsley that loves him, that still believes that he can be saved. It's foolish, but he doesn't want to let go of that dream.

Rabastan laughs at that, climbing to his feet and making his way closer. He rests a hand against the bars, a hint of a sad smile on his dry, chapped lips. "Look at me, Kingsley," he says. "This is what fun looks like. Wasting away in Azkaban, listening to my brother screaming and knowing I can't help him. Getting excited when they say you're coming to visit. But you know what?"

Kingsley shakes his head. He's heard this tone so many times before. Whenever Rabastan would try to push him away, his voice would be firm, his tone hard. Maybe it was supposed to scare Kingsley away, but it never has.

"It was always going to happen," Rabastan continues, despite Kingsley's denial. "This is who I am. I'm sorry I can't be saved."

"You can."

He wants so desperately to believe. Despite everything, he wants to be able to fix Rabastan.

"I do love you," Rabastan saya. "Always have, always will. But it's time for you to let me go."

But Kingsley won't. In the end, if it's the last thing he does, he will find a way to save the man he loves.


	15. Hold On (KingsleyHarry)

_Word Count: 520_

* * *

"Minister." The young Healer offers him a soft, reassuring smile, but Kingsley can see the uncertainty in her eyes.

"What happened?" Kingsley asks.

They've told him as much as they could already. A mission went wrong. No one is certain if a spell hit Harry, or if he is suffering from the potion fumes in the explosion. So far, everyone has devolved from useful information to awkward, uncomfortable chitchat.

Healer Deason doesn't have anything to add, except that Harry is in stable condition now, though no one is sure how long it will last.

"Can I see him?"

She frowns, wringing her hands together nervously. "I'm sorry, Minister, but he still… He isn't waking up. He won't even know you're there."

"Like hell he won't." He wants to remind her who he is, what his position is, but he doesn't. That's the sort of thing Cornelius would have done, and Kingsley promises himself every day that he will have more class than the former Minister. He softens. "Please…"

Several moments pass. Finally, she shrugs. "We aren't supposed to let anyone in," she says. "Not until we have a full evaluation done. However, if I just happen to walk away to retrieve my cup of coffee, I won't see you going into room seven." With a wink, she walked off.

Kingsley wanted to run, but he didn't need to draw attention to himself. Even the Minister of Magic isn't above the rules.

He slips into Harry's room, his heart breaking at the sight. Harry isn't supposed to be like this. He is all fire and energy and _life_, and seeing him, eyes closed and body so very still, is just plain wrong.

Kingsley's eyes flicker to the clock on the wall. He sighs, pulling up a chair and taking Harry's hand. There isn't much time before the Healer will begin her rounds again; Kingsley wants to make the most of every second he has now.

"You can't go," he says, his words trembling with emotion. They say the situation is touch-and-go, but Kingsley doesn't know what that means. All he knows is the love of his life is in danger, and he's terrified. "Nothing in my life has ever felt as right as this, and I… Please don't go."

He squeezes Harry's hand. "Hold on," he whispers. "Hold on to me."

Harry groans. Kingsley nearly falls out of his chair at the sudden noise. He looks out, heart ready to explode when he sees those familiar emerald eyes.

"Wh…" Harry blinks slowly, confused. "Where…?"

Kingsley is on his feet in an instant. He wants to scoop Harry into his arms and kiss him, but he resists. "Healer Deason!" he calls loudly. "Healer Deason!"

His attention returns to his boyfriend, and a relieved laugh escapes his lips. "Don't ever scare me like that again."

Harry offers him a weak smile. "Sure thing. What'd I do?"

Instead of answering, Kingsley leans in, hugging Harry gently, tears falling freely. He doesn't let go until Healer Deason and her team come in and lead him away.

The worst is over, and everything will be okay.


	16. Kindness (KingsleyLavender)

_Word Count: 503_

* * *

He notices her alone in the back of the pub, black fishnet stockings clinging to her legs. Her painted lips fit around the filter of the cigarette, and she inhales, leaning back and breathing out a cloud of smoke.

Kingsley feels drawn to her. He supposes most people avoid her now. Everyone knows that the scars across her body are Greyback's work. The world has a long way to go in learning to accept someone and set prejudices aside.

Kingsley moves closer, sitting across from Lavender. "Let me buy you a drink," he offers.

She removes the cigarette from her lips, her gold bangles noisily jangling with the movement. "And why would you do that? Actually, I really don't want to know." She sighs, snuffing out her cigarette. "I'm not your charity case, got it?"

"Maybe I just genuinely want your company," he says before calling out an order to Rosmerta.

"You know my drink of choice?" Lavender asks, her voice softening.

Kingsley chuckles. "I've noticed you," he answers. "You've become something of a wallflower, but…"

He clears his throat. Lavender is lovely with her kind eyes and honey curls. How could anyone not notice her?

"A wallflower?" she echoes, clearly amused. "What else should become when…" She gestures to her scars.

"I'm self-conscious about my ears," Kingsley tells her.

Her brows raise, eyes drifting to the gold earring in his ear. "Bullshit."

He laughs, shaking his head. "No, no. It's true. I pierced them because I thought it would help me like them more."

"Did it?"

Another laugh. Kingsley leans back, accepting the glasses Rosmerta brings them. "Not really," he admits, sipping his butterbeer. "But, after a while, I stopped thinking about it."

"No offense, but ears are a bit different from my trauma," she says.

"I know. I can't even begin to imagine."

Silence hangs between them. Lavender sips her wine, lips curling into a smile. "You're the first person to really see me," she tells him. "I mean… Obviously people can _see _me, but you… You're different."

He doesn't think it's anything to be praised for. All he's done is continue to treat Lavender like a normal human being. Any decent person would do the same. Unfortunately, it seems there aren't as many decent people in this world as he would like.

"Let me take you out to dinner," he says.

"Why would you want to do that?" she asks, a soft pink staining her cheeks.

"Because you're lovely, and you deserve to be loved." He finishes off his drink and climbs to his feet, offering her his hand. "What do you say? A leap of faith?"

With a smile, she allows him to guide her to her feet. "A leap of faith," she agrees.

The world can be such a cruel place, and he imagines it has not been kind to Lavender in the weeks following the final battle. But if he can make it just a little better for her, he will. It's the least he can do.


	17. Somehow (KingsleyJames)

Word_ Count: 427_

* * *

"You spent years chasing her," Kingsley says. "Why are you surprised that she actually wants you now?"

James sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I thought that's what I wanted." He leans back in his chair, studying the ceiling like it's the most interesting thing in the world. "I feel sick with guilt every time I see her, so I just… avoid her."

"You have got to break up with her," Kingsley tells him.

"I can do that?"

Kingsley shakes his head, eyes rolling. He loves James more than he could ever say, but the boy is so ridiculously oblivious. Did it really never occur to him that he doesn't _have _to date Lily? "If you want us to be together, you don't really have much of a choice."

With a groan, James covers his face. Kingsley can imagine the conflict he's facing inside his head, and he doesn't envy James one bit.

"Everyone always expected me and Evans to end up together," he says. "Hell, maybe I actually did want it to work, but…" He lowers his hands, and his eyes rest on Kingsley. "I fell in love with you."

"I know."

"Does that make me a bad person?"

Kingsley reaches out, holding James' hand. "No. Just a person who's trying to figure himself out."

James smiles at that. "I can do this."

…

James is visibly flustered when his friends help him into the dormitory. Kingsley watches with raised brows. "Did he freeze?"

"Like an antelope in headlights," Remus confirms.

James collapses onto his bed, letting out a frustrated groan. Kingsley has never seen him like this before. Usually, James is the epitome of collected.

"I could always take the anonymous route," James says. "Send her a letter so she catches me snogging Kingsley."

"That's in poor taste," Peter offers.

"Well what am I supposed to do?"

Kingsley offers the other three boys a pleading look. Thankfully they understand and make up feeble excuses to leave Kingsley and James alone. Once the dormitory is empty, Kingsley makes his way over to James' bed and lays beside him, wrapping his arms around James. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now," he says.

"I do. I'm absolutely miserable not having it all together," James grumbles.

Kingsley holds him closer, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. "Well, I'll make you less miserable," he assures him.

He doesn't know how, but Kingsley has to believe that they will figure it out one way or another. They will find their happily ever after.


	18. Show Them (KingsleyHermione)

_Word Count: 383_

* * *

Kingsley finds Hermione in the library, stroking Crookshanks. There's a sad sort of distance in her eyes, and Kingsley understands it all too well. Some blabbermouth found out about their relationship and plastered in every print they could, insinuating that Hermione is ruthless and only trying to advance her position in the Ministry.

He has his suspicions about who the journalist may be, but he doesn't want to make accusations without proof. In the meantime, his girlfriend is so clearly drained by the ordeal, and Kingsley feels so absolutely helpless now.

"Animals are better than people," Hermione says, glancing up at him. "Show me proof that I'm wrong."

Kingsley chuckles and sits beside her. Almost instantly, Crookshanks is in his lap, nudging his stomach with his furry head. Kingsley offers the cat an affectionate smile, scratching behind his ears. "Typically, yes," he agrees. "But that doesn't mean you really believe that." He gives her a knowing smile. "At the end of the day, you're amazing, and you will try to help everyone. Humans, animals, fearsome beasts."

Her lips twitch, but she seems unable to bring herself to smile. "It's just like the Triwizard Tournament all over again."

Kingsley vaguely remembers the articles. He hadn't given it much thought at the time. After all, why should he care about teenage drama?

Now, Hermione is hurting, and he doesn't know how to make it better.

"You know I don't believe that article, don't you?"

She nods, but his words don't seem particularly helpful. The pain is still so clear. "I know. But so many people will. The way they looked at me…"

Kingsley sighs. He doesn't know everything that happened, only that Ron found him just before lunch and told him that Hermione had left. It must have been bad; Hermione would probably live at work if she could.

He wraps an arm around her, pulling her closer. Crookshanks hisses, hopping onto the floor and glaring up at them. "To hell with what anyone else thinks," he says softly. "We're going to show them."

"Show them what?"

"That we are madly in love," he answers, kissing her softly. "That it doesn't matter what they say. It's you and me, and no one else really matters."

She softens slightly at that, nodding. "Let's prove them wrong."


	19. Call It Hope (KingsleyDraco)

_Word count: 2699_

* * *

i.

Draco Malfoy looks absolutely broken and helpless as he kneels beside his parents' bodies. Even among the chaos that comes from Voldemort's victory and Harry's death, even as there are cheerful cries mingling with panicked sobs, even as figures blur past him this way and that, Kingsley still sees Draco, and he knows he has to do something.

Wand raised and countering the stray spells that come his way, Kingsley marches over, casting a quick Shielding Charm. He thrusts out a hand. "Come with me."

Draco doesn't reach for his hand. Aside from his eyes flickering briefly to Kingsley then back to his parents, Draco gives no indication that he's heard him at all.

"Wasn't a suggestion," Kingsley says, gripping the younger man's shoulder.

"Wait! I can't leave them!" Draco insists.

Kingsley stares at the bodies of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He doesn't feel anything for Lucius, but Narcissa hadn't been so bad; he thinks, under the right circumstances, she could have even been good. "We'll bring them too."

It isn't practical, and he knows it. Still, how can he say no? Draco Malfoy has made some mistakes, but Dumbledore had believed he is within the realm of redemption. Why not give him that chance?

…

The hideout is not as full as Kingsley would have hoped. Molly Weasley sits with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione, the four of them pale with shock; Kingsley imagines it must be the most difficult for them. Andromeda stands in the kitchen, watching a kettle on the stove as Minerva prepares a tray of biscuits. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood sit with two girls donning Slytherin ties; Kingsley recognizes them as the Greengrass sisters. The room is dead silent, and the air feels so heavy.

"Is this all of us so far?" Kingsley has to add _so far _because he has to have hope that others are out there.

Every head snaps up in his direction. Ron is on his feet first, wand raised. "What's _he _doing here?" he demands

"Kindly put that away, Mr. Weasley," Minerva says, her tone sharp and stern, like she's standing in front of a class and lecturing. When Ron grudgingly returns his wand to his pocket, Minerva turns her attention to Kingsley, then to the two bodies he and Draco brought with them. "Poor dears. Lucius was quite good at Transfiguration."

Andromeda stands in the doorway, her eyes upon her dead sister. She doesn't speak, but Kingsley can see so many emotions flashing across her face, and he wonders if bringing them had been a mistake.

"I'll bury them," Kingsley says.

…

Draco joins him, but he doesn't speak. He works side by side with Kingsley, casting spells to dig the holes.

"I'm sorry," Kingsley says softly.

Draco still remains silent. He grabs his father's ankles, and Kingsley takes Lucius' wrists. They work together to get him into the first hole, then Narcissa into the next.

"I lost my parents too, before the war," Kingsley tells him. "Why did the Dark Lord kill yours?"

The younger man doesn't answer. With a heavy sigh, he covers the graves with dirt before looking at Kingsley. "What am I?" he asks. "Your prisoner?"

"We don't take prisoners," Kingsley answers. "I'm going to need your wand, though."

"Right. Because that makes me feel like I'm welcome." With a roll of his eyes, Draco hands the wand over. "It's my mother's. See that nothing happens to it."

…

Draco sits alone. Kingsley watches as the younger Greengrass girl, Astoria, according to Minerva, tries to engage with him, but Draco shuts her down.

"Why did you bring him?" Andromeda asks, dusting crumbs from her shirt.

"We're not leaving anyone behind," Kingsley answers, stirring sugar into his tea. "I told up I that. Before all of this started."

"Yes," Molly agrees, "but he is hardly one of ours."

_Ours. _Maybe not. But Draco also doesn't quite feel like one of _theirs_ either.

"Why did the Dark Lord kill Lucius and Narcissa?" Kingsley asks. "It wasn't that he sacrificed them, but he killed them outright. That has to mean something."

"The boy isn't without hope," Minerva says. "We will have to keep an eye on him, however. I'm not sure how much I trust him."

"I can do that," Kingsley assures her.

…

Kingsley ends up in a room with Draco. It is small and cramped with two beds shoved against the walls and little room to walk. Draco still doesn't speak. Kingsley wonders if the trauma has taken his voice, but he doesn't ask.

"Take whichever one you like," Kingsley says.

Draco sits at the one beside the window. He leans against the wall, pale eyes fixed upon the moon beyond the glass.

Kingsley climbs into his bed, pulling his shoes and socks off. He wants nothing more than to submerge himself in a hot bubble bath and call it a night, but there's a queue for both bathrooms in the place, and he doesn't feel like waiting tonight. Maybe he'll have better luck in the morning.

"I thought I found a way out." Draco speaks so softly that Kingsley almost thinks he's imagined it. "I was wrong."

"What do you mean?"

Draco wraps the blanket around him, bringing his knees to his chest. It's heartbreaking. The Malfoys have always been an arrogant family, and they've always had a regal air about them. Draco is pitiful, and his pain is written all over his face.

"Draco?"

But Draco doesn't want to talk anymore. He lies on his side, facing the wall. Whether he is trying to sleep, or just pretending, Kingsley can't be sure, but the message is clear: he has said all he has to say.

Silence hangs in the air, and it is so heavy that Kingsley feels like he is suffocating. With a wave of his wand, he extinguishes the lights in the room and curls up, facing the opposite wall. So many thoughts flood his mind without warning, and his head begins to hurt. Kingsley groans, squeezing his eyes shut.

He doesn't want to think about it all. There has been too much and loss, and they have all been left with more questions than answers.

Images flash across his closed eyes. Remus and Tonks, side by side in the corridor, never to wake again. Neville Longbottom helping Oliver Wood carry the body of what looked like a child through the wreckage. A girl left in a pool of blood, angry slashes across her throat and face, another of Greyback's victims.

He sits up, taking in a shaky breath. Maybe sleep isn't such a good idea.

ii.

"Harry would want us to fight," Ron says, holding Hermione's hand. "He… He dedicated all that time to defeating You-Know-Who."

Hermione nods. "It's the least we can do to honor his memory."

Those across the table nod their agreement. A few murmur their own little additions, but no one really seems to have anything to add. They will continue this fight because peace is not an option, and they refuse to live in fear.

Draco laughs. It isn't cruel laughter; there is no unkindness within the hollow, bitter sound. If anything, the sound is so close to a sob that Kingsley almost reaches out to comfort him, but he quickly thinks better of it.

"Something funny, Malfoy?" Ron snaps.

"We're already dead," Draco says, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Don't you idiots see that? It's over. He's won. What's the bloody point in fighting? We're dead."

Ron looks like he wants to punch Draco. Kingsley knows there has always been something of a feud between the Weasleys and the Malfoys, and it seems to have worsened now that emotions are running high. Hermione places a calming hand on Ron's shoulder and whispers something too low for Kingsley to hear.

"When something is won, Mr. Malfoy," Minerva says, "it comes with sacrifice. We cannot expect to win this without sticking our necks on the line."

Draco doesn't say anything to that. He just folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes like he can shut them all out.

…

"Are you sure it was wise to bring him here?" Andromeda asks as she and Kingsley walk the perimeter of their hideout.

"I couldn't just leave him," Kingsely says.

Truth be told, he doesn't know if it's wise. This could all be some elaborate ruse. Draco may wait until they're all comfortable before striking.

But maybe, and Kingsley thinks this is most likely, Draco is just as lost and broken as the rest of them. Maybe he just needs someone.

For some reason, Kingsley wants to be that someone.

"He's my family," Andromeda says. "Isn't that strange? Teddy lost his parents. He'll never get to meet his grandfather. But maybe, just maybe, he will have gained a cousin."

"I know you would rather trade Draco for Tonks."

"In a heartbeat." Andromeda offers him a sad smile. "But we don't get to choose who lives and dies. Merlin knows things would be much different if I could make that choice. All we can do is make the best of what we have."

…

Draco refuses to join them for meals. Molly leaves a plate at his door. It goes on like that for a week until Kingsley takes the plate.

"Let me," he says.

"If you want, dear."

Kingsley enters their room, holding the plate of chicken and potatoes. Draco sits on his bed, wearing a baggy Weasley jumper with a _C _on it.

"I never asked you to," Draco says when Kingsley sets the tray on Draco's mattress.

"To what? Bring you dinner?" Kingsley asks, tipping his head to the side, confused.

"You saved my life." Draco's voice is soft and so close to cracking with emotion. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"I know." Kingsley shrugs and starts for the door.. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Hey!"

Kingsley turns, brows raised. Draco stares at him, and there is something in his eyes, something that seems to be on the tip of his tongue that he is struggling to say. For several moments, Draco just opens his mouth wordlessly.

Finally, he clears his throat. "Can you let Mrs. Weasley know that I enjoy her cooking?"

"You can join us and tell her yourself."

Draco shakes his head and drops his gaze to his plate. He presses the fork against a potato wedge, mashing it absently. "I can't."

Kingsley doesn't believe that, but he doesn't press it. He steps out and closes the door behind him.

…

Kingsley can't remember the last time he managed to sleep through the night. Even before the battle at the school, he struggled.

He bolts upright, struggling to catch his breath, reaching out for someone who might comfort him. No one is there. He is alone in a room that is silent except for Draco's soft snores.

Kingsley rubs his temples like it's enough to wipe away the horrible things he sees whenever he closes his eyes. He checks his watch. Four in the morning isn't too early to start his day.

iii.

Hope slowly comes trickling in over the month following the war. Charlie Weasley manages to contact Molly and tell her that he is in Romania with others and waiting for instructions. Filius and Horace bring news from a safehouse in Glasgow which houses an additional seven survivors. Dean Thomas contacts Luna, and she brings him and Seamus in.

It isn't perfect, and it isn't enough to erase the damage that has been done. Still, for the first time in what feels like an eternity, Kingsley feels like maybe they still have a chance.

…

He's surprised to find Draco in the garden with Neville. For the most part, Draco has opted to stay in their room, keeping a careful distance from everyone else.

Kingsley steps at the edge of the garden, watching as Draco adds a head of cabbage to his basket. The younger man looks up and offers Kingsley a sheepish smile as he wipes sweat from his brow, leaving behind a smear of dirt.

"Father always told me that Herbology was a useless subject," he says. "I think I was always better with plants than I was with people. Besides, it goes hand-in-hand with Potions, don't you think?"

Kingsley nods. "I'm just glad to see you out," he tells him.

A soft pink stains Draco's pale skin. He looks down at his hands and picks at the dirt under his nails. "Why do you care so much?"

"Why did the Dark Lord kill your parents?"

Draco shrugs, but Kingsley can see it in his eyes. He has the answers that Kingsley is looking for.

…

Draco helps Molly in the kitchen. His movements are clumsy, but Molly is so patient as she teaches him. Kingsley stands in the doorway, smiling.

…

Draco is good with babies. Kingsley watches the younger man lifts Teddy and soothes the fussing baby, bouncing him gently.

"Hush, hush, baby love," Draco sings softly. "Look to the stars above."

"He looks so much like Cissa," Andromeda murmurs, appearing at Kingsley's side. There's a longing in her voice that makes Kingsley's chest ache.

…

"In the interest of total transparency," Minerva says as they walk along, reinforcing the protective wards around their base, "I worried that bringing Mr. Malfoy in would cause problems."

"You weren't the only one."

The corners of her lips quirk. "I am happy to not be right about this."

He chuckles. "That makes two of us."

iv.

Kingsley sits up, barely able to breathe. Cold sweat beads his forehead.

This time, he isn't alone. Draco is by his bed, reaching out and taking Kingsley's hand in the darkness. "I have nightmares too."

Kingsley swallows dryly, nodding. "I know. I hear you sometimes."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't." He chuckles. "I'm surprised I don't wake the entire house every night."

There's a silence between them. It isn't the same tense silence as in the beginning.

"Mother wanted out," Draco says. "She begged Father to change sides, said she would do it without him if she had to. I… I don't know what happened in the Forbidden Forest, only that the Dark Lord thought that Potter was dead, and that he killed my parents when he wasn't. It isn't too hard to connect the dots, I don't think."

"And what about you?"

"I wish I could claim that I supported her. Truth is… I didn't even know I was lost until you saved me. Dumbledore told me I still had a chance."

"You do."

More silence. Kingsley's heart beats painfully fast. He closes his eyes.

"Can I… This might be ridiculous, but can I sleep with you?" Draco asks, and he sounds so reluctant to admit that he is so vulnerable.

Kingsley shifts over, and Draco joins him, curling up beside him. It feels nice to have someone, to not be so alone.

"I've never been good with people," Draco says. "Father was. He could woo anyone he needed. Me? I just know how to pretend. But… I…"

Whatever he wants to say, he doesn't say it. Instead, he presses his lips to Kingsley's in a quick kiss.

"I'm not sure if I read your signals right," Draco admits.

Kingsley just smiles and pulls Draco close. He doesn't know what he wants, only that he hadn't saved Draco with romantic intentions. Maybe something changed, some great, almost imperceptible shift. All he knows is that it feels right, and he wants it to last.

…

Draco is awake before him. Kingsley is greeted by a smile when he wakes.

"Do you really think we have a chance?" Draco asks. "I always thought the Dark Lord was sure to win, but… I don't know. Your optimism is infectious."

"I think we can win this." Kingsley sits up. "There is definitely hope."

For the first time since the battle, he sees that the world isn't so dark and hopeless. This is a new beginning, a new chapter in their lives. There are so many possibilities before them, and he thinks that it is time to embrace them.


	20. Piece of Cake (KingsleySirius)

_For Gab_

_Word Count: 619_

* * *

When Kingsley enters Grimmauld Place, he is greeted by black smoke and the shrieking of Walburga Black's portrait.

"Filth! Traitor!" she screams, obscured by the smoke. "Such a disgrace treating my home like this!"

"Quiet, you," Kingsley murmurs, drawing his wand and casting a quick spell.

The smoke fades, and he can breathe easily without his lungs aching and stinging with each inhale. Satisfied, Kingsley makes his way to the kitchen, leaning against the door frame. How Sirius hasn't died from smoke inhalation is beyond him.

"That looks dangerous," Kingsley says.

His boyfriend looks up from the lumps of charcoal-grey monstrosities that line the baking tray. "What does?"

"Leaving you to your own devices."

Sirius sighs, and he looks so pitiful that Kingsley's heart breaks. He knows that Sirius hates being trapped in this place, and it's clear that he is running out of ways to keep himself occupied. Sirius smiles a little less these days; he always looks like he's on the verge of crying.

The moment passes, and he offers Kingsley a grin. "I am a bit of a nightmare in the kitchen," he confirms. "This was a catastrophe."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. You're more talented than you give yourself credit for," Kingsley says, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Sirius brightens ever so slightly at that. "Really?"

"Of course. I don't think anyone could have burnt those as badly as you did. That's an accomplishment."

Sirius rolls his eyes and folds his arms over his chest. He lets out a huff, but Kingsley knows it's all an act. That's one reason he loves Sirius so much. Kingsley spends his days surrounded by people who are so serious. Then there's Sirius. Sirius is softer, more relaxed, and being around him is like taking that first breath of fresh air after being inside a stuffy house all day. Things are just easy with him.

"Hilarious." Sirius snorts. "You should be a comedian. I'm sure you'll tell me that you were an award-winning pastry chef before you became an Auror, right?"

"No, but Auntie Siti insisted that I should learn to bake." Kingsley smiles fondly at the memory. "She would always say, 'Asim, you need to know how to bake a good cake. Easiest way to a woman's heart.'"

Sirius raises his brows. "I'm not a woman," he teases. "Is that why you never baked for me?"

"No. Molly usually beats me to it."

And it's true. Molly brings Sirius food every day, including a small dessert. While Kingsley knows that he can bake a good cake, he also knows he can't compete with Molly Weasley.

"Molly hasn't stopped by today," Sirius says sweetly, lower lip poking out in a pout.

"I suppose I could do something nice for you."

…

Kingsley sings softly as he smooths the homemade icing over the cake. It looks okay, but he knows it will never be the quality of cake that ends up in a bakery window. Still, he is satisfied.

"Cherry rum cake with vanilla icing," Kingsley says, grinning proudly. It has been some time since he's baked anything, and it feels nice.

"It's perfect." Sirius moves closer, pressing a soft kiss to Kingsley's cheek. "Just like you."

Kingsley chuckles and grabs a knife, cutting into the cake and setting the first slice on Sirius' plate. As he cuts himself a piece, he can't help but smile.

For so long, he's felt like something was missing. Maybe this is it. Maybe he'd needed that balance between work and home, that desire to have something softer and simpler once he stepped out of the Ministry.

And now he's found it in Sirius, and he is so lucky.


End file.
